


intro, rising action, climax, falling action.

by sixthirty



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Guanlin has anxiety, Insecure Guanlin, M/M, The timeline is funky lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixthirty/pseuds/sixthirty
Summary: In which Guanlin’s life changes with naver comments, an intervention, and ends with a kiss. All three more or less involve Jihoon and insecurity within himself.





	intro, rising action, climax, falling action.

**Author's Note:**

> lol this is probably the worst summary ive ever typed. anyway um imsorry for this i was just s*d after the day of comeback. idk how to feel abt this properly but it feels done so im gonna let it go before i fuss over it. also, the smoking guanlin thing in the fic happens later than when it actually happened irl, the timeline is funky. comments + kudos are appreciated, thank you!! im guanable on twt :)

It started with an anonymous message he got sent to his phone.  
  
The message, no sender available, is just a link with words in his native language that just say ‘ _read the comments_ ’. He doesn’t understand, hesitates on doing anything with the info, before deciding _fuck it_ and clicking the link.   
  
The Naver article reports on their latest performance, a ceremony that brought in thousands of viewers. He remembers the night vaguely, having spent the majority of it with a migraine, even resulting in leaving the artist seating area to rest in an empty room with the lights completely off and two pills with an iced water. A rough day, he supposes.   
  
So he scrolls through, skimming through the article. Nothing different from a normal one, except the whopping 10k comments and the equal ratio of a total 16k likes and dislikes. His mind blanks, before making the absolute terrible mistake of clicking the comments.   
  
_[+270, -10] that's lai guanlin? the famous maknae of wanna one? he doesn't even look like he's doing anything. is that what idols call dancing these days?_   
  
_[+147, -98] this is embarrassing. i can't even understand a single thing he says. he's not korean right?? thank god. ㅋㅋ_   
  
_[+67, -100] does he have any talent? this is a joke right? im fucking appalled. why was ha sungwoon rank 11 when guanlin was 7? even being rank 11 is too generous for guanlin._   
  
_[+53, -165] all of you call yourselves wannables while you bash guanlin like this??? you’re unworthy of being wannable._   
  
His heart stops, his breathing clogs up and his anxiety runs hot through his body. Was he that bad? He thought he had improved. Did no one see that? Was this all for nothing? Did he do enough? He feels his sweaty palms drop his phone, tears building up in his eyes.   
  
Did all the fans think like that? What if his members did too, his family?   
  
He doesn’t know anymore.   
  
He curls up in the chair he sits in as he waits to be called for makeup, desperately begging not to cry. But to no use, he starts crying silently in the waiting room as everyone has their headphones in.   
  
As always, it doesn’t take long for someone to notice. Guanlin is a big presence in the room, both figuratively and literally, so when he’s upset, the energy slightly dips and someone definitely notices.   
  
This time it’s Jihoon, who sits two chairs away as a makeup noona touches up his finished look. She shoos him away, signalling Jaehwan over, leaving Jihoon to pass the time alone. By now, Guanlin’s fallen asleep, hands tightly clutching is phone and tear dried face barely visible.   
  
Jihoon smiles softly at the sleeping boy, running his fingers lightly over his face before frowning because something is deeply wrong.   
  
Now, now he can see the tear tracks down his cheek, now he can see the tense muscle in his face, discomfort while he sleeps. Now he can see how unnecessarily tight Guanlin grips his phone, understanding way too quickly.   


He debates on waking him up, talking to him, but knowing Guanlin, he’ll just hide away. Not confront anything that directly applies to him. It makes Jihoon’s heart hurt.

 

So, as Guanlin wakes to do makeup, scrubbing the tear tracks off his face before the stylist sees, Jihoon decides he’ll keep quiet.

 

Things turn for the worst when Guanlin collapses amidst practice. Jisung reacts immediately, turning to pick him up off the floor while Minhyun turns off the music.

 

Jinyoung furrows his eyebrows worriedly, while the others huddle around each other instinctually for _something_.

 

“He’ll be okay. He’s just burning up.” Jisung says after a few moments, hand splayed across Guanlin’s forehead. Even now, Guanlin looks peaceful, like it's the first proper rest he’s gotten in weeks. Jihoon sighs, upset at the knowledge that something is bothering Guanlin.

  


Safely in bed, with water and the lights off, they leave Guanlin alone and head to the living room.

 

“Something–“ Jisung clears his throat, grimacing uncomfortably. “Something is bothering Guanlinie.”

 

The others nod in agreement, glancing at each other.

 

“I think i know.” Jihoon speaks up, fidgeting under their stares. “He stares at his phone a lot. I mean, i never fully see but i think maybe it's comments. i don’t — i dont know.”

 

Jihoon feels guilty admitting this, like it wasn’t his place to say. But they asked, and Jihoon is worried. Jisung nods understandingly.

 

“Then we stage an intervention.”

 

The hours leading up to Guanlin’s intervention are tense, the guys not exactly being calm about this whole thing. It feels wrong to Jihoon, knowing that this could possibly make Guanlin react even more negatively. When he steps out of his room, he sleepily stumbles his way into the living room and next to Jinyoung on the couch before noticing that everyone is looking at him.

 

“Do you read comments about yourself?” Jisung asks, straight to the point, stern but caring.

 

Guanlin freezes, narrowing his eyes and gazing at the floor. “Yeah.”

 

“Why? You’re none of those negative things. You’re talented.” Minhyun speaks up softly.

 

“But i’m not. I’m everything that they say i am.” Guanlin snaps, anger rising in his voice, silencing the others who aren’t expecting that kind of answer from him.

  
“Guanlin,” Daehwi starts.   
  
“No. It’s so true though. They’re right. I can’t sing, I can’t rap, I can’t dance, I can’t speak korean, I can’t do _anything_ .” Guanlin cuts him off, shoving Jinyoung’s hands off of him and standing up to pace.   
  
“I’m just a pretty face huh? And even then that doesn’t fucking matter because there's Daniel hyung, or Seongwu hyung, Jihoon hyung, Jinyoung hyung. I’m overshadowed. I don’t mean anything. _I don’t even know why i’m here_ . I’m just the too tall youngest with no special talents besides the fact that i can fucking speak chinese and english and even that doesn’t matter because daehwi speaks english and i don’t mean anything. There’s no point in me being here. I don’t even deserve rank 7. I’m not appreciated, a lot of our fans are not mine, I rarely see slogans for me. It’s so, degrading. I work and work and work and yet people can’t see that and why should I keep trying if people don’t even fucking _care_ ?   
  
This industry is so hard on foreign idols and i hate that i’m weak but to fans and citizens the fact that i try doesn’t even _matter_ . “ Guanlin finally breaks down, tears running down his face mid rant.   
  
Belatedly, he realises that in the midst of his words he switched to english, Daehwi only fully understanding.   
  
He frowns, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just scared. okay? I’m scared.”   
  
The members remain silent, shock obvious in their faces as Guanlin fully unloads his stress onto them.   
  
When they take too long to react, Guanlin does the first thing he usually does.   
  
“I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just— sorry.” He doesn’t hesitate, just grabs a key to the dorm and runs out into the dark streets of seoul.   
  
He feels numb. He didn’t mean to explode on them. But there was no other way to make them _understand_ . It’s so hard for someone like him. A 16 year old taiwanese boy who barely speaks korean _in_ the korean entertainment industry. He’s so fucking _scared_ .   
  
—   
  
Hours pass before Guanlin knows it. The streets are completely empty now, the sky pitch black and starless. He wanders slowly, kicking rocks around as he trudged up a street.   
  
The wind is a bit too cold, even for his hoodie. It whispers eerily into his ear, making his nose a bright pink invisible to the human eye.   
  
His phone flashes with another message, adding one to the 456 unread messages present in his kkt. Daehwi again, spamming in both english and korean, all saying the same question. _Where are you?_   
  
And that is a good question. Where is he? He’s on some street, in the middle of a residential district in a foreign country, with a language he’s not completely fluent in. Where is he even in _life_ ?   
  
Another message pulls him from his thoughts, though what catches his attention is the 10% phone battery left.   
  
A park comes into view finally, something different from the buildings that have been surrounding him the past hour. They’re filled with loving families, maybe even a rookie group or two. People filled with dreams, willing to overcome the obstacles to achieve them, whether they be disapproving parents or friends, or societal values.   
  
People with dreams who haven’t faced the ugly obstacle of reality. He thinks he understands.   
  
The swing creaks under him as he settles as best as he can, shuddering slightly. He pulls out his phone, ignoring the 9% battery left and calls the first number he sees.   
  
“ _Guanlin_ ? _Where are you_ ? Oh my god do you know how worried you made us? It’s fucking 3:30 am in the morning! I understand that you’re hurting, but come _home_ . _Please_ .” Jihoon speaks worriedly into the phone, loud voices ceasing in the background as Jihoon shushes them urgently.   
  
“But you don’t.” Guanlin speaks, his voice cracking. “You don’t because you’re not 16, you’re not taiwanese, you’re not bad at everything you do. You’re Park Jihoon, number 2 in the end.”   
  
Jihoon doesn’t answer, the only sign of him still on call is his hitched breathing.   
  
“I’m just rank 7. I’m just the tall kid in the group. The foreigner. But I’m trying my best, right?” He says, voice going falsetto at the end. He sniffles loud, crying softly.   
  
“Yes,” Jihoon affirms immediately, breathless.   
  
“It’s so hard, hyung. It’s so hard being me. I want it to matter but people don’t care and it fucking _sucks_ .” He lets out a sob, placing a hand over his mouth to stop the incoming sounds. It hurts. The tears, the compression in his chest. It fucking _hurts_ .   
  
“My phones gonna die. I don’t know where i am. At some park maybe? I see, I see a ramyeon place, next to an ice cream place. There’s homes around here too. Please—Please find me. I wanna go home .” Guanlin whispers, choked up on his tears. He doesn’t get to hear Jihoon’s answer because his phone dies, the swirling loading symbol the last thing he sees before the screen goes black.   
  
The sky is pitch black, the wind whispers eerily, and Guanlin starts to fully cry.

 

He cries until he cannot anymore. At this point, he’s lost all sense of time, lost all feeling in his hands and nose and face, and is well on his way to being stuck frozen to the swing chair. He swings idly as he tries to calm himself down, repeating the same breathing exercise over and over again.

 

His thoughts never stop the neck breaking pace in his head, cycling through the same words over and over again. He’ll never be good enough to the majority, but to some he will, and isn't that better than nothing?

 

There’s nothing left to do except keep trying, but why should he if it’s just gonna be in vain? But his family— shouldn’t he make his family proud?

 

No matter how much he contemplates, Guanlin doesn’t know.

 

Then, a voice breaks the quietness.

 

“Guanlin!” Is the only warning he gets before a figure launches into him, almost pushing him out of the swing completely. Arms wrap tightly around him, pulling him into their chest.

 

Guanlin smells the familiar scent of lemonade, sighing because it's _Jihoon._ Jihoon, who somehow is always the one comforting him at times like this. Jihoon, his favourite hyung.

 

“My Guanlinie, I’m so, so sorry. I saw you were hurting and i still ignored you and i’m so sorry, but hyungs here now though.” Jihoon whispers close to his ear.

 

“Hyung,” Guanlin’s voice cracks, digging his head into Jihoon’s chest.

 

“Shh, It’s okay,” Jihoon strokes his head and back soothingly. “Hyung’s here. I’m here.”

 

Guanlin sniffles, pulling Jihoon even closer. It’s very uncomfortable, Guanlin is this close to falling off the swing, but he feels _safe_ and _loved_.

 

He feels other arms wrapping around him, soft murmurs of comfort filling his ear.

 

“Guanlin, you’re strong, diligent, hardworking. You’re loved. Without you, we aren't Wanna One.” Daehwi says into his ear, arms wrapping around his neck. Guanlin sniffles in response, tears building up again.

 

“Next time, let us help you with your burden, okay?” Jisung smiles encouragingly, rubbing Guanlin’s cheekbone with his thumb.

 

He doesn’t remember getting home, doesn’t remember leaving the swing but he finds himself wrapped tightly in blankets, Jihoon cuddled next to him.

 

“Guanlin.” Jihoon whispers.

 

“Hm?” Guanlin hums, sleepily turning towards Jihoon.

 

“Next time, tell me what bothers you, okay? I told you i’d be here forever. I’m sorry I didn't do a good job but i’m here now.” Jihoon smiles, a blush gracing his cheeks.

 

“‘Kay hyung. I will.”

 

—

 

Things come to a standstill when a scandal breaks out. It’s about him, of course. Like all wanna one related scandals usually are.

 

The picture going around now is of a guy, supposedly him (which, in all honesty, is the actual most stupidest fucking thing he’s ever seen because he looks _nothing_ like the guy in the photo) with a cigarette in between his fingers.

 

The Naver report leaves Guanlin utterly speechless, unable to fathom the concept of him _smoking_ whatsoever.

 

It isn’t long till Jaehwan cooks breakfast for him out of sympathy or pity—he isn’t sure—and goes with him to the swing office where he’s been summoned. Guanlin writes numerous statements about the rumor before he has a panic attack, stressfully mulling over another piece of paper.

 

As soon as he turns in the last one, he dashes for the bathroom, barely tugging the lock on before he crashes onto his knees. The air in his chest is sucked out of him painfully, bringing tears to Guanlin’s eyes.

 

He can’t do anything right. That’s not him smoking and people don’t believe him and Guanlin just wants to _cry._

 

So he calls Jihoon. He doesn’t get any words out, just sobs into the phone until he can’t anymore. He distantly hears Jihoon panicking, whispers words of comfort to him, but he can’t focus on them because his head spins violently. When he comes back to consciousness, he realises he's sweaty, his skin is hot, and he’s laying as comfortable as possible against Jihoon.

 

Jihoon.

 

He didn’t even know he was here, doesn’t remember him coming at all. And yet he’s _here._ For _him._ And how’s that supposed to make Guanlin feel? He already knows there’s no chance but it isn’t fair that this keeps happening anyway.

 

Jihoon continues brushing his hair with his fingers, humming softly while his eyes remain closed. Guanlin’s breath hitches, overwhelming emotions flooding into him as Jihoon realises that Guanlin is awake.

 

“Hey baby, it’s okay, i’m here,” Jihoon says quietly, softly wiping away the runaway tears. “I’ll always be here.”

 

Guanlin lets out a whimper, completely and utterly helpless. The overwhelming _love_ he has for Jihoon consumes him, and he doesn’t know what to do or how to _feel_. So he cries. As silently, as small as he can, while Jihoon brushes away his tears and runs his hands through his hair.

 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, even after his back begins to hurt, and they stay there until Jisung has to come collect them.

 

—

 

Jihoon is avoiding him.

 

Now Guanlin, Guanlin is a lot of things. Hopelessly in love, stubborn, hard working, kind. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not _dumb._

 

At first it was just a hunch. Something coincidental. He’ll sit down, and Jihoon will stand up. Nothing weird. But it’s not just _that._

 

Jihoon won’t sit at the table during breakfast if it’s just them two. Jihoon won’t sit next to him in the van. Jihoon won’t respond to his silly texts like he would used to. Jihoon won’t joke around with him unless it’s with another member—and even that’s stretching it.

 

He won’t even sleep in the same room anymore. And when he heard Jisung complain about it to Minhyun, well, Guanlin felt like the air was sucked out of him. This isn’t fair. He can’t play around with Guanlin’s feelings because he _knows_ Jihoon knows. He’s not fucking stupid.

 

But this is just _tiring._ Soul sucking. Guanlin’s tired of running around in circles, tired of being the reason Jihoon doesn’t act the same. He’s tired of crying every night knowing that two feet away a bed is empty because of _him_ and that’s not Guanlin’s fault, but why does it feel like it is? Why do they have to act like they’re in middle school?

 

So Guanlin makes the executive decision in leaving the room himself. There’s no reason for Minhyun and Jisung to keep complaining when he’s can just move himself out. Jihoon only leaves when he walks in and sees Guanlin already in bed anyway.

  


Today he volunteers to shower last. Says the hyungs deserve it more, they worked hard. Jisung smiles lovingly at him, tells him ‘you worked hard too, Guanlin-ah’ before patting his back and leaving the living room.

 

He sits on the couch lazily, still fully clothed and skimming through the channels and clicking Cartoon Network, brain taking a moment to register the english.

 

As an old rerun of some adult swim show plays, his mind wanders, the shower runs, and the lights are dimmed low. He thinks of the hidden pillow and blanket stuffed in his gym bag in the linen closet, thinks of the spare key to the dance practice room, where a bed sits in the the smaller closet room. He thinks of the gentle rainstorm brewing, the way he’ll have a few minutes of clear air before he gets to the practice room. He’s set an alarm, to get back into the dorm before Jisung wakes, fully confident in his set of sneaking out skills with plentiful practices during Produce 101, to joining cube, even dating as far back as when he was still living in Taipei.

 

He can do this. But as Woojin smiles at him when he walks out of the kitchen, his turn to shower, his stomach churns anxiously. Like he’s _afraid._ And not knowing why he's afraid scares Guanlin as much as knowing exactly why. Overall, he’s completely, utterly _fucked._

 

The hot water runs down his back, soothing the aching muscles from the afternoons dance practice. He takes his time, has no reason to rush, and goes as slow as he can while the other members (except Jihoon, as of lately) knock on and wish him a goodnight. If he cries, no one but the walls know. If he sits there debating his life, no one but the walls know. If he sings quietly to EXO, no one but the walls know.

 

Unsurprisingly, Guanlin steps out of the shower an hour later, where he finds the dorm is completely dark except for the bathroom light. His hands shake as he dresses, gathering his stuff and quietly leaving the dorm, spare key clenched tightly in his fist.

 

He doesn’t breathe until he’s completely outside the dorm building, the night sparkling above him with the streets lit up by orange street lights, the distant hum of cars going by periodically behind him.

 

It’s slightly chilly, but when he shudders it’s due to the fact that his anxiety creeps up on him, taking form in the way he gnaws on his bottom lip and in the violent flinch from a dog barking too loudly for 11 pm at night.

 

His nerves don’t calm until he’s in the building, smiling tight lipped at the late night receptionist who nods in understanding after she takes one look at him. A gentle hum from her as she hands him the keycard to the elevator alleviates some of the weight on his shoulders, taking in a shuddering breath when he’s safely inside the elevator.

 

Guanlin knows this whole thing is childish, knows that what he does in response is childish. He knows he should just confront Jihoon. But why does he have to play the bigger person? Why in these instances it’s always the youngest one? Maybe he’ll never fully understand korean culture, but Jihoon is the hyung who’s ignoring him and Guanlin is completely _tired_ of this. He just wants a solid answer. Wants to know how he can prepare for the future after whatever happens. He misses Jihoon, and it fucking _sucks_ that it might not be the same.

 

Taipei was always different. Taiwan is different. He _knows_ how to act there, and it’s hard here. He thinks of the comments that started this. Thinks of everything in the past two weeks and he just — he starts crying.

 

It hurts to cry. It hurts knowing your best friend isn’t talking to you. To know that some people don’t believe in him. It hurts because he has no idea what's going to come out of this and that _terrifies_ him.

 

Guanlin should sleep, but he can’t and everything feels like it’s falling apart. So he dances. Turns it loud enough so it doesn’t blast through the walls, writes every single comment he saved in his screenshots in english, korean, and chinese on the mirrors using a dry erase marker and dances for hours.

 

He doesn’t stop for breaks, doesn’t stop until his alarm sounds to get back to the dorm, and even then continues on.

 

He doesn’t stop until Jisung bursts into the room sometime later.

 

“Where _were you?”_ He demands, panic obvious in his voice. “You can’t just leave like that. You didn’t even leave me a note! Oh god, you’re trying to kill me.”

 

He doesn’t give Guanlin room to respond, just pulls him close into his chest and hugs him tightly, rubbing his back. “I think we need to talk.”

 

So Guanlin does. He spills out every single thought to Jisung, every single issue with Jihoon and the way his mind is hurting him now. He talks and Jisung listens. And when he’s done, Jisung holds him tight and lets him cry.

 

“Guanlinie,” Jisung begins, rubbing his thumb against his cheeks. “I should’ve done a better job as a leader, and as your hyung, but i’m gonna help you through this, okay?”

 

“We’re gonna figure this out.”

 

They spend the day around town, Jisung treating Guanlin as if he was his very own son. When they get back to the dorm later that night, Jisung ignores the questions the guys throw at them and leads Guanlin to his room to sleep.

  


Like all movies, this ends not long after Guanlin sneaks out of the dorm. It’s a free sunday, an extra rare occasion that Jisung rewards with pancakes for breakfast. He’s a lot more soft towards Guanlin, always tugging him around so he doesn’t sink into his head, which Guanlin is very thankful for. He’s grown a lot more closer to Jisung these past few days, so when Jihoon walks out of the kitchen as he walks in, Jisung pulls him close and hands him a whisk.

 

“Mix the batter, Linnie.” Jisung smiles at him, softly patting his butt. Guanlin nods, setting to work.

 

“We need to make a lot, so this batter is the product of three boxes of pancake mix. You mix, and then i’ll pour.” Jisung instructs. Minhyun and Sungwoon are working on cooking bacon, eggs, sausages and diced potatoes while music plays from Sungwoon’s phone, drowning out the loud video game sounds from the TV in the living room.

 

It’s a nice sunday, Guanlin thinks, vigorously whisking the egg yolk away. He just wishes this... _thing_ going on with Jihoon was over.

 

Breakfast is ready in no time, all eleven of them crowding around a table that barely accommodates them. Jihoon, unsurprisingly, sits far away as possible from him, in turn causing Jisung to settle next to Guanlin with a supportive hand on his knee. He thinks he sees Jihoon make a face at Jisung sitting too close to him.

 

And that angers Guanlin, because he has no _right._ His anger simmers silently as he shoves pancake into his mouth to distract himself, focusing on Jisung’s hand on his leg to anchor him.

 

“Guanlin.” Sungwoon’s mouth was full with pancakes. “Why were you not in bed that one day?”

 

Jisung’s hand grips tighter.

 

“I…” He falters, his ears burning. “I wanted to practice, I couldn’t sleep.”

 

Sungwoon tilts his head. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asks, concerned.

 

 _Because i’m homesick_ is what he meant to say. But he did not say that at all. Instead, he blurts ‘Because Jihoon is avoiding me, so i can’t sleep in our room’ before slapping at hand over his mouth, choking on his words and effectively making the room silent. Jihoon looks embarrassed, ashamed even, gaze tilted downward to avoid the stares as everyone turns towards him.

 

Guanlin feels guilty, but he can _breath_ finally, so he keeps going.

 

“Jihoon hyung won’t talk to me, and it hurts a lot. I overheard Jisung hyung and Minhyun hyung complain about it one day, so I made the decision to leave the room since i’m the root of the problem. in fact, that's where I sleep now.” Guanlin explains, forcing his pent up feelings out.

 

Jisung had been helping him sleep in the dance practice room, even going as far as spending a couple nights with him so he doesn’t get lonely. They had a solid system, and Guanlin was so thankful Jisung was patient and supportive with him.

 

“Now that that’s off my chest. I’m going to call my mom.” Guanlin leaves before things get worse. No one stops him, just like that one night, and he forces the sobs back down his throat as he makes his way to the practice room.

 

Yeah, he might’ve heavily fucked things up but he can breath and he feels fucking _free._ Like he let everything go, let _Jihoon_ go. And it sucks, but he can focus on himself and work for the people who do believe in him.

 

He thinks he can be happy now.

 

Except that’s not what happens at all. Instead, as he walks down the street away from the dorm, anxiety buzzing loudly in his head, the door to the building slams open and footsteps make their way towards him.

 

Guanlin grunts as a figure slams into him, ready to push them away and ask them to leave him alone, when his voice falters at the site of Jihoon heavily panting, forcing him around.

 

“Guanlin,” He forces out, sucking in a breath. “ _Fuck_ i’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just, so _bad,_ at feelings and I couldn’t—“

 

He cuts himself off, curling in on himself.

 

Guanlin narrows his eyes. “I’m not gonna let you mess with me hyung. Excuse my language but i’m _fucking tired_ of being played. This isn’t fair. You can’t call me baby and then ignore me for two weeks.” He says angrily, tears running down his face as he digs his pointer finger into Jihoon’s chest.

 

“I have feelings hyung. I’m not some doll.” He whispers, completely resigned and tired.

 

“Baby, I’m sorry. I like you. As much as Daehwi likes to mess with Woojin, as much as Minhyun loves to clean, as much as Jisung loves to baby you. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. But please.” Jihoon grabs his shoulders, almost desperately.

 

“I just didn’t know. Every time I saw you the urge to kiss you was so strong I had to force myself to leave, I couldn’t sleep in the same room as you because my heart was beating so painfully. I know it took me way too long to come around, but _i’m here_ and _I like you_.”

 

Guanlin’s heart breaks, anxiety overwhelming him as he comes to grip Jihoon’s biceps, flexing his fingers anxiously. He can’t speak, can’t find any will to force out words, so he pulls him close and kisses him. Jihoon melts into the kiss, the desperateness from him so heavy Guanlin could feel it.

 

They have a lot to work on, a lot to talk about, but now, Guanlin feels _free_ and he has _Jihoon_ in his arms.

 

It ends with a messy, tear filled kiss in the middle of the street in Seoul that Guanlin wouldn’t trade for the world.


End file.
